


This Fire You Ignited

by winterwaters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 3 + 1, F/M, Fluff, I'll just be here in AU denial, complete trashy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3183623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Bellamy and Clarke catch the other in various states of undress, and one time they do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Fire You Ignited

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a mess because of these two. This is trashy fluff, like the tag says. Title is from the song Ultraviolet by The Stiff Dylans.  
> Hope you enjoy!

I.  
Bellamy rubbed the sleep from his eyes for the third time as he trudged in from the night watch. He was only supposed to have taken part of the night, but Miller had hurt his leg in a freak fall the day before, Murphy had been on shift until the sun went down, and everyone else was either too busy with their own duties or, quite simply, too exhausted. 

So Bellamy had stayed, even though he honestly couldn’t be sure if he’d remained awake the entire time. But that didn’t matter. His own exhaustion was just another facet of daily life now. What mattered was that both he and the camp had made it through another night without any terrible mishap. That was how his days were measured lately, so he’d take whatever he could get. Murphy had found him in the morning and taken his spot with an unamused grunt.

Now he wandered back into the camp as the sun climbed higher in the sky. Everyone was already up and about at their daily tasks. Random chatter and arguments filtered past his ears as he headed for his tent. He wondered if Clarke was stuck in the sick bay again. Or if she’d used his absence as an excuse to finally sneak into one of the day patrols to get her damn plants. The girl tried his every nerve some days, though he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the debates. Sometimes it was downright _fun_ to argue with her, to have someone who tested his wits as thoroughly as she always did. It kept him on his toes.

But right now, his toes and ankles and frankly every part of him were loudly protesting. With a sigh, Bellamy adjusted the strap of the gun so it would stop biting so sharply into his shoulder. His tent came into view and he sped up, hoping to get there before anyone stopped him with a new problem. Just a few minutes of shuteye was all he needed. Eagerly, he ducked under the flap and stepped inside.

His heart stopped.

Clarke stood with her back to him, clad in only jeans and a tank top that was currently in the process of being peeled off. For a moment, Bellamy stood dumbstruck as inch after inch of pale skin was revealed. There were two small divots on either side of her spine that his mouth itched to trace. The flare of her hips narrowed to a small waist, where he wanted to splay his large hands to see if they’d wrap all the way around. His eyes traveled upwards, lingering on the various scars that covered her back. He knew most of them from memory. The curved one on her left side was freshly pink; he could still remember the panic that had shot through him when she fell down the ridge. Her skin stretched over her ribs and he frowned. She wasn’t eating properly again.

As Clarke stretched to pull the shirt all the way off, her spine curved with the motion. Bellamy wanted to lay his tongue flat against it and follow the path.

_Jesus. Say something, you fool._

The garbled exclamation that emerged from his throat made Clarke jump and turn with a yelp of surprise. “Bellamy!” The shirt stayed on halfway, her arms wrapped around herself. 

“Princess,” he croaked.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was still several octaves too high. She was uncovered enough that he saw the flush begin on her neck, spreading into her face and across her chest, and lower below the neckline of her shirt. He dragged his eyes up to hers again.

“This is my tent.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “No, it’s Raven’s. Yours is by the east gate.”

So that was what had happened. Bellamy rubbed his neck. “Actually… we switched a couple days ago. Raven’s leg was acting up, but you know how she is.” Clarke nodded. “Mine was closer to the mechanics tent. So I just told her Abby needed us to switch so I could train with the guards.”

It had never crossed his mind to tell Clarke. At the moment though, he was proud to be able to string together a full sentence, seeing as the image of her bare back was permanently burned into his memory.

“Oh. That was smart.” Clarke bit her lip sheepishly and finally tugged her shirt down. There was a large tear across her stomach, exposing another sliver of skin. Bellamy stepped forward immediately, his eyes widening. 

“Are you okay? Did something happen?” He couldn’t quite keep the distress from his voice. Unconsciously, he reached out, his hands grazing the torn shirt.

Clarke followed his gaze and the red in her cheeks deepened to crimson.

“No, no! I mean- yes, I’m okay. My shirt just ripped during training. One of the newbies got a little too eager with a spear.” His shoulders sagged with relief, and she put her hand over his. “I was overconfident. It must not have been as dull as I thought.”

Bellamy forced himself to breathe deeply, already wondering which kid to find and throttle. _It was probably Derek, the little shit was always too eager-_

“Bellamy.” Clarke’s voice forced him out of his thoughts. “I’m fine,” she insisted softly. 

His fingers traced the length of the tear, unwittingly brushing against the soft skin of her stomach. Her muscles clenched as she sucked in a sharp breath, and he yanked his hand away.

“I’ll, um, I’ll talk to Tanner and Bralen about the spears,” he offered weakly. 

Clarke nodded. “Right. Thanks. Anyways, Raven told me to use her tent, so I came in here real quick to change." She gestured at the familiar blue shirt on the floor atop her jacket. He'd completely missed it. "I didn’t know about the switch,” she laughed nervously.

“It’s fine.” He was not fine.

She swallowed. “I can just-”

“No, it’s okay, really. I’ll wait outside.”

“Thanks.” Clarke smiled shyly before her eyebrows lifted. “Wait, are you just getting back from watch? I thought you were only on until midnight?”

He shrugged. “Miller’s got that broken leg and Murphy was on shift all day yesterday, and Taylor and Kravsky were tired from hunting, so…”

Now she was the one stepping closer in concern. “So you stayed out there all night? God, Bellamy.” She shook her head and poked his chest. “You could have at least told me. I would have helped.”

“I know that. But I also know you’ve got patients that you’ve been tending to for several days and nights. You need the rest, too.”

“Idiot,” she grumbled. “If you’re not careful, you’ll be my next patient. And I won’t be nice about it at all.”

“Don’t worry so much, princess.” Bellamy tapped her nose lightly and she huffed, turning away.

“I always worry about you.”

A smile crossed his face. Annoyed or not, she meant it, and damn if it didn’t warm his heart a little. Then she began lifting her shirt again, and the sight of her smooth, pale skin had him practically fleeing outside.

 

II.  
Clarke stepped out of her tent, stretching out her muscles. The camp was still quiet in the early morning darkness - just the way she liked it. This was usually her favorite time of day, when she could gather herself and prepare for the day’s work before everyone else awoke. She’d started spending mornings in Bellamy’s tent, usually sitting and talking quietly while he slowly woke up. Sometime back, she’d found that he was usually up the same time as her, if not earlier, but simply stayed in his tent a little longer for the same reason she had. It was their one moment of peace before the day threw another new thing at them.

But today when she headed over, it wasn’t to talk. Bellamy had been sick for over 48 hours now but was plowing forward as if he was fine, like the stubborn mule he was. So last night, with Octavia’s blessing, she’d slipped some medicine into his dinner. To their satisfaction, he’d been out cold by nightfall. Clarke stepped quietly as she neared his tent, hoping he was still asleep. He needed to rest, and if this was the only way, then she’d gladly repeat it tonight.

Carefully lifting the tent flap, she peeked inside and smiled to herself. Bellamy was sprawled facedown on his mat, the blanket tangled by his feet. He’d managed to remove his shirt before the medicine kicked in entirely. But she was used to that. With the summer heat creeping in, they’d all started slowly peeling the layers away to cool off.

Clarke sat down quietly, pressing a hand to his forehead to check his temperature before trailing down to his neck to take his pulse. He seemed alright. She suspected it was nothing more than a summer cold. It just required him to stop moving for more than half an hour so his body could recharge. That was easier said than done.

Bellamy shifted, mumbling in his sleep. As she was about to pull away, his hand covered hers, lacing their fingers together and resting by his head. Clarke stared at their joined hands in surprise, finding that she didn’t mind it at all. Her pale fingers seemed almost an unhealthy shade of white next in contrast to his olive skin. 

She shifted closer, leaning down to study the scars that crisscrossed his knuckles. They were fairly old by now, a reminder of all the battles they’d been through to get to this moment. Callouses covered his fingertips, callouses that she felt every time he touched the small of her back or grasped her elbow. Usually it was a way to get her attention, but more and more she’d gotten the feeling that he did so because he wanted to. Even more odd was that she welcomed the touch.

Clarke followed the line of his arm up to his shoulder. Bellamy was all hard lines and sharp edges in the daylight, but lately she’d discovered that in the darkness he somehow seemed to soften, as if he could finally take off whatever armor it was he wore throughout the day. 

Her eyes drifted across his back, where the muscles were sculpted and prominent. She was reminded of the first few days on Earth, when all she'd seen was his bare torso. At the time, she'd grumbled that if she ever saw it again it would be too soon. But now she realized she hadn't really seen him in that state for a very long time, not unless he was a patient, in which case all her thoughts were frantically occupied by fixing whatever had happened.

But now, in the stillness of morning, she was able to just trace the shape of his clavicle, the wing of his shoulder blade, the sharp lines of his hipbones. Clarke wondered what it would feel like to touch Bellamy for something other than a medical reason, to graze her fingers along his spine simply because she wanted to. 

It didn't escape her attention that almost every section of Bellamy’s back was covered somehow or another in scars. He had so many. The logical part of Clarke’s brain reminded her that this was not a new fact. She knew that, of course, because she was usually the one yelling at him to sit still so she could patch him up. But she never really just _looked_ at them all at once. 

A small breath left her at the sight, a patchwork of both faded and fresh lines over his tan skin. She found she could identify the source of many of them. 

There was the scrape on his shoulder where a spear had grazed him while hunting, and the freshly healing gash on his side from a freak tussle with a wild boar. _Only_ you _would anger the animals too,_ she’d later scolded. The curved line right above where his hips narrowed was the only remnant of an errant bullet that had torn through during training. The recruits had born the brunt of her and Octavia’s anger for days.

But Clarke also saw some unknown scars, and that scared her to no end. There was a small, puckered scar above his waist that she didn’t recognize, and another cut that ran lengthwise down his side that made her brows furrow. Clarke didn’t like not knowing those. It meant Bellamy had been hurt and she hadn’t been able to help. She didn’t know what possible reason there could be for that. The desire to know was so overwhelming that she was tempted to slip into the sheets right next to him and press her lips to each one until she knew all their secrets.

“Like what you see, princess?”

Clarke barely managed to contain her shriek as she fell back in surprise. Bellamy's fingers still gripped hers, preventing her from shuffling too far away. She hoped, _prayed_ it was still dark enough to hide the heat that swiftly moved up her neck. Upon second glance, his dark eyes were amused but also sleepy and unfocused. She swallowed.

“In your dreams,” she said as primly as she could.

Bellamy chuckled, a tired breath leaving his lips. Clarke leaned forward and smoothed her fingers over his forehead, watching him drift back to sleep. Once his breathing had evened out, she slipped her hand out from his and quietly made her escape. That had been far too close for her liking.

The midday sun was shining brightly when Bellamy finally emerged from his tent. He blinked wildly against the light, still a bit groggy. Clarke had to stifle her laugh at his confusion. She went back to sorting through her medkit, pretending she hadn’t been lingering nearby until he woke up. He made his way over and sat next to her on the bench.

“Good morning,” she grinned.

Bellamy’s only answer was a grunt. By now Clarke knew better than to ask how he was feeling. That was like poking a grumpy bear. 

“They could use your help in training,” she nodded at the roped off yard by the far gate. “We’re a bit outnumbered at the moment.”

“Okay.” His voice was still rough with sleep, but he turned accusing eyes on her. “Did you put something in my food last night?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She met Bellamy's gaze evenly until he finally shook his head and looked away.

“I had the strangest dreams,” he mumbled. “You… you weren’t in my tent earlier, were you?”

She dropped a roll of thread and bent hastily to retrieve it. “Nope. Had to redress the wound on Monroe’s leg.” She kept her head down, missing the tiny smile that crossed his face.

Bellamy hummed softly. “I see.” With a yawn, he rose and stretched. "East gate, you said?"

"Yup."

Clarke startled as something dropped into her lap. Her jaw dropped open as she traced the familiar white band of her watch.

"You dropped that earlier," Bellamy's breath was warm on her ear. "You know, when you weren't in my tent." 

He strolled away whistling a jaunty tune as Clarke stared after him. It was days before she could look him in the eye without blushing immediately.

 

III.  
Clarke sat gingerly on the mat, trying not to further injure her leg. It had been hard enough to get her jeans off with the wound directly on her thigh, but with a little help from Monty’s moonshine, she’d managed. It was after dinner, and everyone was slowly beginning to retire for the day. That was how she had escaped long enough to sneak a few extra medical supplies before retreating to her tent. Less chance of being disturbed here than if she stayed in the sick bay.

She examined the gash on her thigh, wondering yet again when it had happened. She honestly couldn’t remember. One moment, she was helping Monroe and Kane retrieve something from the cellar and then she was back at the wall with Miller, examining the latest reinforcements. Only later when she’d gone to check on her patients did she realize the drip of blood on the floor was hers, that the burning pain in her thigh wasn’t just a muscle ache. Her dark pants had covered up any sign of injury from the others, so she’d simply cleaned it as best she could through the torn fabric until she had more time. It had helped that everybody with particularly keen eyes _(Bellamy)_ had been distracted by other issues.

Now Clarke prodded at the area carefully, hissing at the bolt of pain that shot through her leg. With a curse, she tore off a strip of fabric and dipped it in the moonshine. She was so focused on not making a sound that she didn’t notice the crunch of boots outside until it was too late. She barely got the furs over her legs before Bellamy strode in.

“Hey Clarke, do you know-” He stopped abruptly, taking in the scene. Stupidly, she tried to tug her shirt further down. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Just cold. What’s up?”

He cocked an eyebrow in disbelief, but she kept silent. His eyes narrowed. “Alright. You wouldn’t happen to have seen the last of the moonshine, have you?”

Shit. She’d taken it only after extracting a promise from Monty to make some more the next day.

“I thought it was still in medical?” She asked carefully.

“O’s doing inventory like you asked and she can’t find it.” Bellamy’s eyes wandered suspiciously over her mat. “Said a few other supplies are low, too.”

Why of all times did Octavia have to choose _now_ to listen to her? Clarke shrugged, trying to stay casual despite the fact that she was half-naked under the blanket.

“I’m sure they just got put away somewhere else. I can help her look in the morning. She should get some rest.”

Bellamy's expression said he didn’t believe her one bit. But he only nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell her.” Clarke’s shoulders sagged in relief as he turned to go. 

Without warning, he turned and marched over, yanking the furs off her legs in one swoop. Clarke scrambled to keep the moonshine upright while shooting a glare at him at the same time.

“Was that really necessary?”

But Bellamy’s gaze was latched onto her leg, brows knitted and eyes wide. “You’re hurt.”

He dropped onto the mat in front of her without a second thought. Clarke barely had time to feel embarrassed before his hand rested on her knee. She jumped at the contact and he pulled away immediately. “Sorry, did I-”

“No, it- I mean, you-” Clarke fumbled with the words. Something had shot through her at his touch, but it hadn’t been pain. Not even close. “Just a little tender,” she finally said. 

He seemed to accept it. His eyes still scanned her body as if he would find something worse. The worry on his face was almost too much to bear when he finally lifted his eyes to hers. 

“Clarke, what happened?”

She bit her lip and sighed. “I honestly don’t know.” She told him exactly what she’d gone over in her mind earlier, unable to figure out the source of the wound. “I just figured I’d fix it myself,” she finished.

“Why not ask your mom?”

“She freaks out when I get a paper cut. How much more if I showed her this?”

“You could have told _me,_ ” Bellamy said.

Clarke shrugged and played with a loose thread on her shirt, ignoring the hurt in his voice. “You have enough on your mind. It wasn’t a big deal.”

Gentle fingers raised her chin until she met his serious gaze. “It _is_ a big deal,” he said softly. “Worry’s a two-way street, princess.”

Unexpected tears pricked at her eyes and she busied herself with soaking the rag in moonshine again. “So what, you’re telling me you have a hidden talent for sewing or something?” She joked.

“Hey, don’t mock my sewing skills.” 

Clarke’s quiet laugh turned into a hiss of pain as the cloth ran over the angry skin. She strained to keep her leg straight until Bellamy put his hand on her knee again, holding it still. Somehow, that was helpful and distracting all at once. Now all her senses were alive for an entirely different reason. Every nerve ending in her leg seemed to fire sparks down to her toes and up into her center, sparks that called for _more more more._ Needing a distraction, Clarke took a large gulp from the bottle of moonshine, welcoming the burn in her throat.

“Monty promised me he’d make some tomorrow,” she muttered.

“I don’t care about that. Use whatever you need.” He was looking at her questioningly when she finally stopped cleaning the cut. “Does it definitely need stitches?”

“It’s probably better that way.” She rubbed her face, surprised when her hand came away sweaty. 

She folded her uninjured foot under her and shifted a little. Bellamy inched closer, coming to sit sideways and facing her leg. “Can I help at all?”

“Uh… ,” Clarke stuttered. His presence was igniting all sorts of strange fluttering in her stomach, which scared her almost as much as this did. But now that he was here, she found she desperately wanted him to stay. Finally she asked, “Do you mind just holding my leg straight? Just until the stitches are done… the skin needs to be as taut as possible.”

He didn’t question her once, simply asking her where to position his hands.

_I could think of a few places._ The voice in Clarke’s head sounded suspiciously like Raven. She flushed, biting her cheek so she wouldn’t actually go and say those idiotic words out loud. Must be the moonshine, she thought absently.

She took a deep breath and readied her needle and thread. The first few stitches always burned the worst. She just had to get through those. She hunched over and began slowly, focusing on keeping them straight and tight and not the fact that it was her skin that pinched with each bite of the needle. 

At one point, she glanced up to see Bellamy smiling fondly, a faraway look in his eyes. When he realized she’d caught him, his eyes darted away but the smile remained. Clarke’s curiosity was sky high, but she returned to her task quietly. The gentle look on his face had been too private for her to push further.

Then he spoke softly. “My mom used to tell me all these stories when I was a kid. Before O was born, I used to demand one every night, or I wouldn’t sleep.” Clarke smiled at the thought. It wasn’t hard to imagine. “And in every story,” Bellamy continued, “there was always a princess getting into some kind of trouble or another.” 

Clarke didn’t need to look up to know he was grinning.

“The stories always ended with the knights or the princes eventually rescuing the princess from the dragon or saving her from some disaster. I thought that’s how it always was, even in real life. But you don't need saving, do you?" He chuckled ruefully. "Here I am being completely useless while my princess stitches up her own freaking leg.”

The needle nearly missed its mark. _My princess._ Clarke felt Bellamy’s gaze on her, warm and comforting. The undisguised adoration in his voice made her heart race, and a flush crept over her pale skin. But she couldn’t look up, not yet. Bellamy didn’t seem to mind her silence. Instead he told her one of his favorite tales, the one that eventually made him want to be a guard on the Ark. His nostalgic voice washed over her, the lilt of his words matching with each loop and turn of her needle. Before she knew it, she’d reached the end of the cut.

Clarke straightened, rolling her shoulders to work out the knots. Without realizing it, she swayed against Bellamy, who moved closer to let her head droop against his shoulder. She didn’t know her eyes had closed until there was a light touch on her cheek. “You okay, Clarke?”

“Mhmm.” She smiled up at him gratefully. “Thanks, Bellamy.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Shut up and let me thank you.”

“Yes princess,” he laughed. Clarke leaned in further and her nose brushed his neck. Bellamy’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. She vaguely registered the pulse hammering under her ear before his arm curled around her shoulder. “Tell me what to do next,” he said.

“Just the cream and the bandage.” She pointed at the items on the small stool. He reached out and applied the cream first, careful of the stitches. A light shiver ran through her at his touch. She wondered if he noticed. The bandage came next, and Clarke let out the breath she’d been holding and curled further into his side. She didn’t know if she imagined Bellamy’s chuckle or the featherlight brush of lips against her hair, but then the furs settled over her and she was asleep in minutes.

 

IV.  
Bellamy made his way down to the lake, the tension already slipping from his body at the thought of getting a few minutes to himself to wash up. The summer heat clung to his skin. His clothes dripped with sweat, damp and sticky. He hurried through the trees. Hopefully by the time he was clean, his clothes would dry out and it would be dusk. One more day of this insufferable heat wave that he’d survived.

The sun had just begun its descent, and the sky was splashed with shades of red and orange, as if it longed to be one of the paintings Clarke loved so much. It got him wondering if she preferred sunrises or sunsets. Somehow, he’d never asked. If he had to guess, he would have said sunrise. But now he really wanted to know.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the clothing drying on the rocks until he was well past it. And then, all that filled his vision was long blonde hair clinging to pale skin. Very wet pale skin that was currently submerged in the lake. The sunlight made the water droplets glisten like pearls that rolled over her neck and shoulders, down her back… 

_Oh, god._

He didn’t realize he’d croaked the words aloud until Clarke’s head snapped around and her eyes widened. She sank deeper into the water until only her shoulders remained uncovered. The red that crept up her chest matched the color of the sunset.

Bellamy was frozen in place. He knew the gentlemanly thing to do was turn around. But part of him (okay, most of him) was aching to step over the stupid line they’d drawn between them. In fact, he wanted to go far enough until he couldn’t see it anymore.

Clarke was biting her lip and avoiding his eyes, but a second glance told him it wasn’t out of shyness. He _knew_ what shy looked like, and this wasn’t it. This was her thinking face, the adorable scrunch of her brow and nagging of her lip that said she was considering something very carefully. He knew better than to interrupt. So as always, he stopped and waited until she snapped out of it. 

When Clarke’s eyes finally lifted to his, they were clear and sparkling with a challenge.

“You coming in or not?” She called.

His heart took flight. 

With a grin to match hers, Bellamy began removing his clothes. He felt like a teenager as he clumsily yanked off his socks and boots, hopping on the ground. How did she always do this to him? He was usually the confident one in this scenario. But all Clarke had to do was _look_ at him and he fell to pieces.

It was okay though. She’d put him back together every time.

He stripped off his shirt, gaining back some small measure of cockiness when her eyes traveled over his torso. _Now_ the bite of her lip held an entirely different meaning. Bellamy shucked off his pants and boxers, not waiting a moment longer to dive in.

The water was freezing. Just moments ago, it would have been a balm to his overheated skin. But right now everything in him was burning for reasons other than the heat. 

Clarke still hadn’t moved.

He made his way over to her in a few long strokes, stopping only when they were inches apart. Her wet hair spilled over her shoulders in thick clumps, tangled and knotted but no less lovely. He could see the curve of her breasts above the water as she bobbed in front of him, still smiling. 

She was nothing like the princesses from the stories his mother used to read to him when he was younger. 

She was the only kind of princess he’d ever want.

Then Clarke giggled and splashed water into his eyes. Bellamy sputtered, only mildly offended, and splashed back. Her laughter echoed into the air.

And just like that, the dam broke. The line between them may as well have been drawn in the sand for how easily it vanished. Clarke was all smiles as she kicked around in the water, playing with him like they were little kids. Everything was suddenly easy and new and uninhibited now that they’d acknowledged this thing between them. He savored each touch, each laugh, and the redness that remained firmly stamped on her skin through it all.

His fingers found her waist underwater, tickling mercilessly. She squeaked and tried to pull away, splashing water everywhere. When that didn’t work, she threw her weight on top of him, sending him under. He emerged coughing, wiping water from his eyes as her laughter tinkled behind him.

“Oh, princess.” Bellamy grinned. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

Clarke lifted an eyebrow. _I dare you._

He dove toward her at the same time that she threw herself backwards. She nearly escaped, except that he managed to catch her ankle long enough to stop her motion. He yanked her closer, cutting through the water and feeling her body crash into his. His arms surrounded her. Clarke wiggled and squirmed in his grip, her hands pushing in vain at his chest despite her laughter. Her body was soft and slick against his, and it sent his senses into overdrive. All her movement was proving to be a great distraction, so he did the only thing he could.

He tangled a hand in her long curls and pressed his mouth to hers. Hard.

Bellamy had imagined their first kiss many times. Maybe it would settle an argument, possibly it would be in the joy of a victory, perhaps it might just say goodnight. But never had it crossed his mind that it might be in the middle of a lake _entirely naked_ in the fading light of day. Clarke’s hands slid up his shoulders to curl around his neck, pressing their bodies together from head to toe. She sighed into his mouth.

It was perfect.

He had no idea how long they kissed, only that Clarke’s hands and lips were exploring him with the same fervor that he was learning her, and it made him crazy.

The first sound of the horn startled them both. Clarke’s head whipped around, her wet hair lashing his cheek in the process. Unconcerned, he simply moved his lips to her neck.

“Bellamy.” His name was a sigh, and though he didn’t know if she’d intended it, he resolved to hear it again. Then her fingers twisted into his hair, tugging his head up.

“The gates,” she said, a little more firmly.

It was difficult to focus on anything but her swollen lips and flushed skin. Then the horn sounded again, and Clarke tugged his gaze upwards. Bellamy began to register the darkness that slowly crept over the sky like a blanket. The sun was close to disappearing. 

The horn. His brain began to work. The final signal before the gates closed. 

He looked at Clarke in alarm. “Shit. The gates!”

Suddenly they were both scrambling to shore and hastily pulling on their clothes. It was all Bellamy could do not to watch as Clarke’s long legs slipped first into her underwear and then her jeans. Clarke seemed to be having similar thoughts, judging by how her eyes kept flicking over to him every few seconds. As he looked around for his shirt, he felt her gaze again. The breath was knocked out of him as her blue eyes lingered, dark and stormy with longing. It took him several moments to work moisture back into his mouth.

“Princess, you keep that up and I’m going to find us a cave instead of camp,” he said hoarsely.

Clarke blinked, her flush deepening to a vibrant scarlet that had him pulling her close for a long kiss. Only the horn’s urgent call made them pull apart. Bellamy located his shirt and grabbed Clarke’s hand, and they took off running back to camp. 

They were still laughing at their momentary lapse in all rational thought when they neared the gate. Slowing down a few feet away, they managed to walk in with some amount of dignity despite their clearly soaked hair and barely dried clothing. The camp was beginning to prepare for nightfall, and many people had retreated to the opposite side to eat by the fires. Bellamy looked back at Clarke, her damp hair already beginning to curl in the heat, the occasional water droplet running down her neck and under the neckline of her shirt. He didn’t realize he was smiling until she poked him in the ribs.

“Stop that,” Clarke whispered. But she was having trouble hiding her own grin.

Then she was approached by Dana with a question about medical inventory, and Bellamy turned around to find Miller striding towards him to confirm the details about the next day’s hunt. As soon as one question was answered, another one popped up, and he and Clarke exchanged a rueful glance. 

Back to work they went.

Bellamy was walking away with Murphy to take a look at the weapons stock when he took a final look over his shoulder. Clarke’s eyes were already on him, soft and hopeful. Her smile was dazzling.

It was a promise, of new and wonderful things to be.


End file.
